Serenity rose from the water and smiled at Kelton. Her beauty drew him toward her. Ignoring the flood over the tops of his boots, he pursued his desire. Her eyes sparkled, reflecting the soft morning sun as it danced across the surface of the pond. He heard his name from her lips, a song that dissolved into his soul. Her welcoming arms reached out to him, and her lips joined his in a permanence that outlasted her dissolving form.

Kelton's eyes fluttered, adjusting to the light. The sweetest lips were still caressing his, far more enticing and filled with reality. A weave may announce the claim, but it is the lips that seal such things.

"Who is this Serenity?" Luran asked. It took a moment for Kelton to remember he and Juno were not alone. They had worked through much of the night, moving back and forth between the tent and his army encamped in the trees. They had finally settled down on sleeping palettes that were brought into the meeting tent. Luran was sitting at the table preparing tea for all, a habit that her new status failed to change.

"Was I loud?" Kelton asked Juno.

"Aye," Juno said, her smile proving she cared not. "Not a scream, mind you. It did not travel beyond the tent."

Kelton sighed. It was easier when it was only Juno who heard. In private, he was more than willing to have her coax the dream away - a welcome way to start the day.

"Who is she?" Luran repeated.

"A curse," Kelton said, then smiled when Juno slapped his shoulder. "Well, the dream of her is the curse."

"She is the last-of-the-line," Juno said, sitting up on the pallet that adjoined Kelton's. "It seems there is a bond of dreams that keeps her in his mind."

"You dream of the one in the tale?" Luran asked. There was concern in her eyes directed at Juno.

"Aye," Kelton admitted as he wrapped Juno's hands in his. "Then I wake to my true dream. It is a nuisance at worst." He sat up and stretched his torso.

"Mayhap it is a message," the King said. He moved to Luran and retrieved a mug and a smile. It looked as if he had been up for a while. The light filtering through the flap in the tent indicated that the earliest part of the morning was gone.

"I have slept too long," Kelton said as he stood, ignoring his new father's input. The last-of-the-line was a tiresome subject, as was the tale. He decided to put distance between himself and the conversation. He rolled his head to loosen his neck. "My swords and I must talk," Kelton added a smile so they would see the humor in the words.

"Goddess," Luran whispered, her body stiffening as Kelton removed his shirt, the Nagada swirls and wounds on full display. The King looked on with curiosity, sipping his tea as if he had expected as much. Kelton had seen Gossamer and the King talking privately on and off through the night, so his subdued reaction was not surprising.

"There is no pain, mother," Kelton said. Luran was easy to soothe. He only had to claim his lineage to calm her mind and set her eyes to sparkling. It did wonders for him as well. Kelton retrieved spider's-bite from their sheathes, kissed Juno on the top of her head, and exited the tent.

The morning was well underway, the sun a good fist above the trees surrounding Goddess's Grove. The air had already lost its early dampness, replaced by the promise of a warmth that defied the coming season.

"Good morn," Kelton said to Verdi, who was setting new guards. He wondered if the man had slept at all.

"My Prince," Verdi responded quietly as if his response was lost before spoken. He and his guards were not prepared for Kelton's marred body.

"It was a hard road," Kelton said with a smile as he walked past. The pain of receiving the marks had faded, replaced by pride at having survived them. He ignored the whispers about the mark of the beast and moved behind the tent, toward the King's army. The ground was flatter and devoid of anything to hinder him.

Kelton closed his eyes and danced, the shared-wind centering his mind for the day to come.

Verdi moved to where he could see better. His men gathered next to him as he witnessed the deadly grace of Kelton's movements. It was mesmerizing in a way, Kelton's body twisting away from the blades an instant before they added new cuts to the old.

"His eyes are closed," one of the guards mumbled. The others nodded, unable to pull their attention away.

"Magnificent, is he not?" The voice startled Verdi, who felt he should have been more aware of who approached.

"Aye," Verdi replied to the woman who looked to burst out a child at any moment. He had seen the princess the night before, her skin as dark as her mother's. "Your highness," he added as his sense of presence returned.

"Yanda will do," the princess said, waving away the honorific. She put her hands on the small of her back and pushed her belly forward. "What I would not give to bend like him," she said as she stretched her back. "I have sensed that you are drawn to him as well."

"Aye, since before he arrived," Verdi admitted, his eyes returning to Kelton's swordplay. It was hard to look away.

"Do you not think others should see?" the princess said.

"Others?"

The princess pointed across the field, indicating the few soldiers - King's men - who had stalled their duties to watch Kelton's display. "Are they not to be told who he is this day? Mayhap it would serve for them to see his prowess - to see what you see."

"Aye," Verdi said with little confidence, then the idea grew in him. Perhaps he should present it to the King, yet time may not allow it. Kelton's swords would long be set down before a decision was made. "Aye," he repeated with conviction.

"Tener, you and Rivant run ahead and alert who you can," Verdi ordered, pointing toward the King's camp. "Tell them a master of blades is spinning them with great talent - something well worthy of seeing." His messengers left at a run. "Let us hope he continues long enough," he added for Yanda.

"He will sense them and continue," Yanda said. There was confidence in her voice as if she knew Kelton well. "He was reared by a storyteller and knows well how to capture a crowd, and another taught him to profit from such things."

"Another?" Verdi asked.

"Our master, at one time," Yanda replied, a cryptic answer Verdi did not understand but felt he was too unfamiliar with the princess to pry. Her eyes traveled back to Kelton. "He tells a wonderful story, does he not?" she asked.

"Aye. One day he will be King," Verdi replied. A dream that looked closer every day.

Yanda chuckled. "Do you know why so many are drawn to him?"

Verdi looked at the princess, unsure if he understood the question. His reason was both obvious and strangely unwordable. He shook his head because he could not put any solid answer together.

"It is because he is not the hero of the story he tells," Yanda said. "It is you and the others who gather around him that he sees as the heroes." She smiled. "And if you stand at his side, then you are my hero as well."

Verdi wanted to say something in response, yet again he was at a loss for words. The princess reached up and gently pulled his forehead down to her lips, a gentle kiss that woke pride in him. There was power in the woman, and he gladly absorbed it.

The princess chuckled as she turned to walk away. "And much luck to you with putting the crown upon his head. It will take that entire army to hold him down to mount it there."

Kelton sensed the growing number of eyes as he entered the most challenging portion of the shared-wind. The Knowing marked the King's Men gathering, attentive and still. He increased the tempo of his blades, cutting through the air as he imagined a force of Nagada at his sides. His muscles responded as if they had never left Waitland, time having done no damage to the skill. It was a good morning for a show.

The first time Kelton had seen the shared-wind, it had mesmerized him as well. The attentiveness of those gathering brought back fond memories, oddly devoid of his wounds or the sting of the yellow vine. He dipped as demanded, one blade spinning overhead, the other thrusting to the left - the place where Farni once danced.

Leaving his bonded one was cruel in a way, though to stay would have been worse. The memory of Juno would have made war with the truth of Farni. His heart would have never settled, always seeing Farni as less. He smiled at the joy that Juno stirred in her Sorinnian dress. All the strength of Farni mixed with the beautiful softness that was Juno's alone.

Cooled by the air, sweat began to run in tickling trails along his skin, some forced horizontal with his movements. More men were gathering a good 100 paces away, forming a semi-circle of spectators. Kelton wondered if this was his desire all along, or was it really to settle his thoughts. In truth, it was exhilarating to share it with others. Perhaps that was the source of its name. It came and went like the wind and only shared for a moment. His mind laughed at the idea. Rarely did Nagada thinking move in concert with the rest of civilization - everything was tied to the tribe. It was their greatest strength and their greatest weakness.

As the shared-wind came to an end, Kelton seamlessly flowed back to the beginning. He decided to see how fast he could go. He accelerated and could almost see Farni's smile.

"Goddess," King Gregory exclaimed as he watched his son work.

"He is quickening," Striker said. "How does he not cut himself?"

"I had heard many words about his skill," Gregory said. "Though to see it is something different. I thought it mostly fable." His mind was giddy with pride.

"I sent word to the army, sire," Verdi said. He indicated the spectators. "It was only said that a master swordsman was at work."

"And his red hair?" Gregory said. "Did you ask them to ignore that?" He smiled at the concerned look on Verdi's face. "No matter - a wise introduction, I think. Such skill breeds confidence or fear depending on the side they choose."

"It was that Sorinnian princess who mentioned it, sire," Verdi said. "She has much love for our future king."

"Princess Yanda?"

"Aye, sire," Verdi replied. "We spoke when the prince first started."

Gregory noticed the pride in Verdi's voice as if he were chosen above all others for attention. That princess was a force upon herself, as wise as her mother and not limited by a language barrier. He began to understand why Kelton thought his path was not a coincidental one. Perhaps his son was a conduit for the world these women desired, Juno, being his lead. Gregory's mind shrugged. It could not be any worse than the world men had built. Perhaps there would be less shame in it.

"Striker," Gregory said. "You will meet with each Lord and tell them the negotiations are nearing an end. Hint that they are going well and measure their response. If they are disgusted by my son's display, tell them it is the demon's last show of strength to obtain a tidbit or two in the discussions. If they are impressed, inform them I am as well, and add my surprise about the Answer's excellent negotiation skills. We will find out where they all lean."

Striker smiled. "Aye, sire."

Corleon sat cross-legged with his elbows mounted near his knees and his chin resting on his joined hands. He was deep in the trees, well away from the armies but with an uninterrupted view of the red-haired man who displayed his skill with swords. His first thought: Magna'est had aged into an idiot.

There was little doubt that the Answer was dancing before him, not that Corleon believed the tale. The red-headed menace was becoming a deity, no different than the Goddess, yet his divinity only lived in the mind. He could see it in the army who gathered to watch and knew it was already pervasive in the army hidden in the trees. Zealots knew no limits, and war was like food to them.

Magna'est, in a last-ditch effort, had sealed the war to come. Brethren should have been present in the meeting, not some King who still wallowed in mortality. Gregory was about to lose half his army. The best the Brethren could hope for was that the traiteurs fools would drop their swords and run home. The worst, they turn their blades against their brothers and destroy what buffer sits between the Brethren and the fanatical commoners.

Corleon's warnings had gone unheeded. Magna'est insisted that their great shields would stop any flight of arrows, and if they maintained a staunch line, the Knowing could not be overloaded, for few would get behind. As he watched the demon increase his speed, Corleon sensed it was not enough. The man moved as if the swords were an extension of his arms, and he could feel the gathering mass of spectators as well as Corleon. The Answer's acceleration was proof of a show. He was converting men with a skill that most would covet. The King was a fool to allow it. Corleon desired the talent as well.

He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. A skilled teller of tales was systematically undoing the fear of the Brethren. A contingency plan was needed.

Juno assisted Queen Margarey in achieving a sitting position. A difficult task since the woman's feet and hands were bound lest she run in the night. That, and she lacked any semblance of coordination, granted her hands were tied behind, not in front.

"I mean to remove your gag," Juno said. She made it a point not to sound as if she pitied the Queen. "Scream, and I shall replace it with my boot."

The Queen nodded. Drool had soaked the cloth and chapped the sides of her lips - a cruel thing, yet necessary for a night of quiet. The Queen still had to remain in the tent for the day, so Juno thought it best she did so without undue pain.

"Water," the Queen rasped. Juno nodded and turned to find Luran had anticipated the need. Luran moved the mug forward, but the Queen turned her head away from her. "You," the Queen ordered Juno. Bound as the Queen was, it surprised Juno that the woman still assumed she had power.

Juno stood, displaying the wilted rose on her wrist. "I would not dare insult one such as you by touching your drink." She tried not to smile, though the corner of her mouth betrayed her. She thought it best to walk outside for a moment. The Queen possessed a talent for reminding those around her why she is loathed. It would be easy to leave her to suffer, and Juno did not want to become someone who would consider it.

"Do you want water or not?" Luran asked. Juno heard telltale signs of gulping as she left the tent. At least the Queen was not so addled to forgo sustenance for pride.

Kelton danced as was his way most mornings. This time the audience contained many newcomers. She smiled when she saw the shapes of the King's Men in the distance. Kelton was putting on a show, and it was stunning. The way his body performed had her mind drifting with sensual musings. Many things were possible if she could get him alone in a private tent. A glorious night of sleepless passion would erase those dreams of Serenity and fill him with thoughts only of her. It was only fair, for he saturated her mind.

"He does this often?" the King asked, walking over to Juno. He wore a proud smile as he asked.

"Each morn, sire," Juno replied with a nod. The honorific was added for the father, not the king. "It is the way of the Nagada. They form great lines with only an arm's length between them. Kelton says it is a thing of trust between warriors."

"Goddess," the King exclaimed. "It is a wonder they do not remove each other's limbs. A wonder to see, I am sure."

"He has fond memories of it," Juno said. "Kelton has a way of finding flowers in deserts. I would have only remembered the beast and the breaking of the vine. He remembers the shared-wind and those who taught it to him. Did you know they have no king or queen there? Only elders who suggest the correct way of things."

"I have not had much time to speak to him of his travels," the King said. "There is much that I have missed. What is this - breaking of the vine?"

"It is some powerful herb given to end pain and muddle thoughts," Juno replied. "They saw him leaving the world in suffering, so they eased what they could with the herb. He lingered on it for days." She gave a weak smile. "Death would not take him, but the vine tried to see it done anyway. It has a curse to it, for the body craves it painfully when it is removed. He speaks of the beast as a worthy opponent, describing it as if it were nature's righteous fury, yet he shudders when he speaks of the vine. I believe breaking its grip was the worst thing he has suffered. Its pain is still deep in him."

"Gossamer tells me that if I desire to know my son, I should ingratiate myself to you," the King said. A sly smile followed as if he knew stating his true intention would elicit some of the ingratiation he desired. He was right.

"If you conspire to know him as a father should, then I am an easy target," Juno said. Honesty should be traded in kind. "If you wish to use him as your tool, then I feel obliged to warn you that you will become mine." Power is a greedy thing with some.

The King laughed and indicted the ground off to the side, away from everyone else. He sat, and Juno complied as well. "I find that there are no thrones in the grass. When I sit in it with the lowest of my soldiers, the crown seems to roll off my head, and truth comes easier."

"Sometimes, you and he speak the same," Juno observed. Now that she was near him and the rest of the world engaged with Kelton's dance, time was slow enough to see the similarities. Not the least of which was the way King's cheeks reddened. He found the comparison a compliment and possibly thought himself unworthy - a very Kelton reaction.

"Lies come easier to me," Gregory said. "It is the one thing, the only thing I am glad he was not at my side to learn." His lips stiffened, and his eyes narrowed. "The moment he walked into that tent, I wanted death to claim me, yet my heart kept beating. Admitting that I was his father seemed an impossible task, so I moved about with other topics. Does a true father abandon his young?" The King looked away. "As I did his brothers. That witch may have delivered the poison, but it was I who ignored her doings. Does not my inattention place the guilt on me as well? Did I not do it again with Kelton?"

"These are words for Kelton," Juno said. She had not known the man for a full day as of yet. Her judgment would be from afar and peppered with the curse the King helped enforce.

"Aye," the King said, looking back at Juno. "Yet I burden you with them, for I cannot say them to him. I must appear strong for what is to come, and he must be stronger."

"He is not a tool to be played with, nor am I the one to soothe your heart."

The King smiled. "I make myself the tool, and you are the one." He reached out and carefully took Juno's hands in his. "Know this; I have one ambition left in me. It is to place the crown on top of my son's head. It is the most burdensome of things, even if the Brethren are no more. A disease of lies and deceit grows in its ring, and you are the cure for it. If Gossamer speaks true, you are the reason he returned. It will be upon you to see that he remembers why hard truth is a better thing than easy lies. He must be better than me."